


Caged Tigers and Other Domestic Felines

by AsheTarasovich (natalieashe), Boffin1710



Series: Secret Garden [19]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alec is being annoying, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Isolation, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Q is being a brat, Quarantine, lockdown - Freeform, no james, not a sick fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/pseuds/AsheTarasovich, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/pseuds/Boffin1710
Summary: The ‘Work from Home’ directive is wearing thin for the Quartermaster and his captive agent.Also kittens...
Relationships: Q/Alec Trevelyan
Series: Secret Garden [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/239609
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	Caged Tigers and Other Domestic Felines

“Hallway. Four paces long, one point five wide. Door to the living area straight ahead, opposite the secured front door.”

“Through the door ahead, large, open-plan, area. Turn 90 degrees to port to face external garden door. Eight paces between the wall at my back and that door.”

“Kitchen to the left, separated from the dining area by breakfast bar, two stools. Magic triangle of kitchen fixtures placed optimally in mid-grey cabinets and white Quartz counter tops. Five paces, by four. Arched doorway, left fore corner, leading to laundry. Small. Not paced out.”

“Centrally, dining area. Table between me and the garden door. Ample, but economical, space to pass either side when diners are seated.”

“Lounge to the right. Two staircases, one double-back leading to the upper floor. One straight descent to the basement. Two large modern leather sofas, one ancient, comfortable wing-back by the window. Three point five paces to the head of the…”

“What the bloody hell are you doing now, Alec? Your pacing and muttering is driving me insane!” Q snapped from his seat at the dining table. 

“Measuring. Planning.” Alec said shortly, not even pausing in his path to the downward staircase.

Q sucked in a breath and forced himself to let it out slowly. Then another, just to quell the simmering temper that had been building for days.

“Take your bloody time down there!” Q growled turning back to his workspace. “I need some peace to work.”

Breathe in. Force the rage out. Breathe in. Huff the urge to murder Alec away.

Q-branch, or rather Q himself, had taken up residence in the flat 75 days ago thanks to Mallory’s insistence that some assets, specifically their Quartermaster, could not be risked. Four of Q’s staff had so far tested positive for the damned virus, and more than two dozen more personnel from across the organisation were either self-isolating with symptoms themselves, or a close family member. It meant that all essential personnel, Mallory included, were confined to home barracks for the foreseeable future.

Q had not taken it well. While he would reluctantly admit he was not invincible, he had insisted vociferously that it was not possible to perform his role effectively away from his department, and therefore the risk was not only acceptable, but necessary! 

Mallory had simply given a bland smile, assured Q that he had the utmost confidence in the man who, newly-promoted and, amidst terrible destruction and tragedy, had managed to oversee - or, in reality, force into existence - a fully operational HQ within weeks of the bombing of Mansfield’s office. A few weeks ‘off base’ should be a breeze.

Hence, secure technical connections established, silent act of petulance implemented (‘chalking’ up the days on the dining room wall in indelible marker), and his own PPO assigned to take care of his needs - “whatever they may be”, Mallory smirked - Q found himself confined to the flat with a restless, irritable, Double O husband.

Alec, it seemed, wasn’t thrilled by the idea of quarantine anymore than Q.

Q scowled at his open laptop in front of him, tablet propped to his left, and two further monitors linked to a humming desktop PC he’d insisted Alec transport home from his office, that now occupied the entire right side of the dining table. 

It was months since they’d been able to use it for meals. Privately, Q wondered if the absence of laid back dinners across the table where they drank wine and talked over the latest Six gossip to decompress, was a contributing factor to their current waspishness with one another. More worryingly, he was becoming concerned that he and Alec worked better as a couple when at least one of them was engaged in Six business away from the flat. Absence. Fonder hearts. All that shite, as Alec would say.

Reluctantly he pushed away from the table to follow Alec downstairs, only to be set upon by Amelie and her two new siblings. The kittens, that Alec had named Arsehole and Fuckwit, were meant as a consolation gift two months earlier to make Q’s enforced captivity more ‘fun’. 

So far, that fun had involved more lacerations, hissing and spitting than Alec had anticipated, but finally Amelie seemed to have accepted the role of big sister and was putting the brothers in their place with well placed swipes, ferocious snarls, and when all else failed, seizing the errant beasts by the scruff and carrying them off for a time out.

“Will you leave my fucking shoelaces alone, you horrid little gits!” Q yelped as he danced across the living room trying to avoid stepping on the kittens, or tripping on their darting bodies. “And you should know better, Amelie! Control your charges!”

“They”ll be better once they can go outside.”

Alec appeared up the stairs and scooped up Fuckwit who was trying to scale Q’s leg, needle-like claws piercing his tender flesh.

“You didn’t anticipate that they also needed quarantine until they had all their jabs? And that my princess would be forced into it also, so she doesn’t bring back any nasties?” Q scratched Amelie’s head and she snuggled under his chin, looking smugly down on Arsehole who was eyeing Alec's bare toes as a potential toy.

Alec shrugged and moved towards the stairs leading upwards. He dropped Fuckwit on Q’s office chair as he passed, and resumed his muttering about paces and doors and stairs, with Q trailing after, still cradling Amelie.

In the second bedroom, Q cornered Alec, refusing to let him progress to the master bedroom. “What are you planning? A career change to estate agent? You sound like one. Are you planning on selling my home from under my arse, with me still a fixture? A sitting tenant, or squatter?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I need to do something physical, Q. Sitting day after day, watching you work, supplying coffee, listening to you griping, fussing and cursing…” Alec huffed and avoided Q’s eyes. “It’s… I can’t… Fuck! I need to escape, Q. I feel… trapped, and…stale!”

“So, go.” Q’s tone was devoid of all emotion but hurt was there in the depths of his steady green gaze. Alec’s words poked at the insecurities that were swimming just below the surface. “You don’t have to stay. The flat is secure, so I don’t really need a PPO, and I’m sure I can make my own coffee. I’ll get more done without you constantly bothering me with snacks and drinks, and fuck knows what else. Speaking of work, I have… Ouch! The fuck, Alec?!”

Q rubbed at his forearm where Alec had grabbed him to halt his attempt to leave the room.

“Oh no you don’t, you little shite. You are not walking away in a strop, and nor are you provoking me into a fight, though fuck knows, a good barney might do us both good. Get the snarling over and done with. Clear the air.”

Q glared at him from beneath his too long fringe that was sorely in need of a barber. A fight was tempting. Amelie, sensing the tension between her humans, wriggled free and fled to the more comfortable insanity of her brothers. A far less stressful prospect than was currently brewing in the bedroom.

Alec took a step back and perched his arse on the window sill. It was a clear signal to Q that he was free to back down and leave, but Alec knew his husband… they had passed the point where Q conceding was a possible outcome. Alec was experienced, and wise enough, not to consider it even a minor victory.

“So? Trapped here. With me.” Q sniped.

“Yes. And no. Not entirely what I meant.” 

Q’s jade gaze was as hard as the mineral itself. Alec was not generally inclined to babbling, but he was navigating his own confused feelings on the fly, as he tried to explain them to Q. 

“I’m not made for long-term rattling around in a confined space where I can’t burn off any energy. I’ve done everything there is to do in the garden. There’s not a plant left unpruned, not a deck board or fence or trellis left unpainted. Not a plot unweeded or dug over or unmulched. I love the garden. It’s mine, and it’s home, but it’s small and all that’s left to do is to enjoy it through the summer months and maintain it. A couple of hours of light work per week, max.”

Q scowled at him. “At least it’s time spent outdoors. We’re better off than many in central London.”

“We are.” Alec agreed. Plenty didn’t have outdoor spaces to easily enjoy at all, no matter how tiny. “I’m not trapped with you. I’m trapped with… me. And an entire career of Six memories, many of which I’ve done my best to leave behind me, that are now crowding around me and pressing in from the walls.” 

He paused, then took a deep breath. Confession time. 

“I want to drink, Q,” he said softly.

Q stilled. Not ‘a drink’. 

‘To drink’. 

Pissed off and hurt though he was, Q recognised Alec’s plea. Not for help, but for understanding. It brought to mind the night Alec finally broke, in the midst of a thunderstorm in the garden, lost to Q, and himself. Drunk, and out of control. It could have been the end of them, but instead it was a new beginning. 

And now, the difference such a tiny word could make to a brewing storm was dramatic. 

Q flew into Alec’s arms and buried his face in his neck. “I’m not apologising. You’re an arse, Alec Trevelyan. I’m justified in being annoyed with you.”

Alec gave a low chuckle. “I don’t contest that. You’re also a whiny little brat, but it’s one of the things I adore about you.”

Q huffed against Alec’s skin. Alec tightened his hug fractionally then released him. “We’re in the middle of an argument,or did you forget?”

“No, shall we continue?” Q stepped away from his husband and crossed his arms over his chest protectively. It may not be a yelling, screaming fight, but being civilised didn’t automatically mean comfortable. “You have the floor.”

Alec was silent for long minutes. Q had all but given up on Alec taking the next step in their exchange, and was planning his next strike, when Alec said, “this place...the flat. It’s yours. Always has been, and I didn’t care, because as long as I was with you then the walls, ceilings, furniture… well,it was all inconsequential stuff. But since being… contained here…” he wasn’t sure the word was any less antagonistic than trapped, but he ploughed on, “I’ve felt a distinct lack of… for want of a better word, Me, in our home.”

Q pondered this silently. Truth be told, the flat was largely as it was when he moved in. The furniture was mostly gifted from friends, inherited from family, or sourced, as needed, from eBay. The only new purchases had been the sofas and the bed he shared with Alec. Other than the aforementioned bed, he had no particular affection for any of it, and other than his tech, no particular sense of himself in the flat either. It was just where they lived, existed, slept, fucked, sometimes entertained…

“All this stalking around reciting numbers is what?”

“I need to be physically active to subdue the demons. I want to feel that this place is uniquely ours, so I’m less likely to snark at you for complaining about sharing our space more intensely than we ever anticipated, for far longer than is healthy for our relationship. I want to completely remodel. Think about it. A complete revamp of our home, to our own design, with everything perfect.”

“Whose idea of perfect?” Q snarked, but there was a spark of interest in his eyes.

“I’d consult you,” Alec responded airily. “You are the true Queen of the flat, after all.”

“Wanker,” Q hissed, but with far less animosity than before. “You want to remodel the entire flat? That’s ambitious.”

“A room at a time. I don’t want the work to be too disruptive to you, and fuck knows when we’ll all be called back to the Mother ship to rebuild, but…. what do you think?”

Q thought about it. Actually pondered, rather than making appearances only. Alec, occupied on a project - a physically demanding project, at that - out of his hair, but still close by, creating… what? A home? A truly shared space?

“I have conditions,” he said finally, Quartermaster brain whirring, seizing onto ideas it liked, discarding the ridiculous, impractical, and downright obnoxious.

“Name them.”

“No pink anywhere. We keep the sofas. You buy me a ridiculously expensive coffee machine, and florals are banned outright. I love your garden but no fucking flowers indoors, unless they are in a vase and cut from your garden. Also, you cook dinner at least 3 times per week- take out doesn’t count - you keep mess to a minimum…”

Q trailed off noticing Alec’s smirk. “Anything else, Quartermaster, oh demanding one?”

“Yes!” Q retorted, turning away to head back to work. “You stop the goddamned pacing and you come up with better names for our feline adoptees!”

Q thundered down the stairs, back to his work. Alec waited until he was out of earshot. “Anything you say, Q. How about Dickweed and Knobcheese? Or…” His list of offensive names continued as he paced out the rest of the house, battle averted. For now.


End file.
